“I have to do this, Princess,” I say, low and steady. “I have to make sure he knows how badly he messed up and what will happen if he ever touches you again.”
Her eyes flicker, fear and something else mixing together, and I hate that she even has to think about this, hate that she’s carrying any of it at all.
I lift my hand and gently push a piece of hair back from her face, then cup her cheek carefully, avoiding the bruise, my thumb brushing the edge of her jaw.
“But when I’m done,” I tell her, voice dropping even lower, “I’m coming straight back here to you. I won’t leave until you tell me to. You understand?”
Her lips tremble, and she nods.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I lean in and rest my forehead against hers for a second, just breathing with her, letting her feel that I’m still here, that I’m solid, that I’m not going anywhere even if I take a few steps away.
Then I straighten slowly, keeping my hand on her knee until the last second before I have to let go.
“I’ll be right outside,” I repeat. “You keep your eyes on me if you need to.”
She does.
I can feel her watching me as I cross the room, and that alone is enough to keep every part of me locked into control, even though everything inside me is screaming to go find Grant Whitaker and make him regret ever learning her name.
Blade and Switch are already in the hallway, low voices, tense posture, all business now.
But before I step out, I glance back.
Brooke is curled into the corner of the couch, wrapped in Blade’s hoodie and my jacket, Bri sitting tight on one side, Bella on the other, Ansley standing guard behind them like a damn shield.
And she’s still looking at me. Not scared of me. Trusting me. That’s the part that settles it deep in my bones. Whatever happens next, whatever line we’re about to cross, I’m walking back into that room when it’s over, and I’m sitting right back down beside her, and I am not letting her carry this alone. Not tonight. Not ever.
The second the door to the living room closes behind us, the air shifts. Blade leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw locked so hard I can see the muscle ticking. Switch stands across from him, hands braced on his hips, breathing slow like he’s keeping himself on a leash.
I drag a hand over my face. “We’re not doing this half-assed.”
Blade’s eyes cut to me. “Wasn’t planning to.”
Switch nods once. “We bring in Mason.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But he needs to hear this from me.”
They both look at me. “Out of everyone,” I continue, voice low, steady, “he needs to hear it from me. Because she’s… she’s mine.” Neither of them says anything. “Even if she’s not,” I add quietly.
Blade’s expression shifts, something heavy and understanding passing over his face. Switch just nods once, sharp and final. “Then make the call,” Switch says.
I pull my phone out and step a few feet away, mostly because I don’t trust my voice to stay steady if I don’t, and Mason answers on the first ring like he already knows this isn’t a casual call.
“Rev.”
“Mason, we’ve got a problem,” I say, keeping my voice low even though everything in me wants to start shouting. “Brooke Calloway was attacked tonight. She got away and she’s safe now, but this isn’t something that waits until morning.”
There’s a pause, short but heavy, and when he speaks again his voice is cold enough to cut glass.
“Where is he?”
“We’re trying to lock that down right now,” I tell him. “But I’m not leaving the house uncovered.”
“Good,” Mason says immediately. “You won’t. I’m activating the club. Ghost and Razor will hold the perimeter. You, Blade, and Switch get to the clubhouse, and bring Riot if you need him to track this bastard down.”
“I do,” I answer without hesitation. “Ghost and Riot are already here, so I’ll take Riot with us. Ghost can stay with Razor and keep eyes on the house.”
